Harry Potter and the Master of Time
by OmegaChrome
Summary: Harry had won. Voldemort was defeated and the Battle of Hogwarts seemed over. What nobody was expecting was Harry's death. Given a choice by a being called the Master of Time, he goes back to the start of his time as a Wizard, to try and fix what he can.
1. The Master of Time

**Author's Note: This is my first fiction posted, but not necessarily the first one I've written. It will follow mostly canon ideas, and will contain a couple somewhat major OCs that is referenced are this chapter. Said OCs won't be doing much in the way of actual fighting and are more for comedy and minor guidance purposes than much else. Said OC will be strong, but so will Harry (due to time travel and actually caring about training). I'll be following canon closely at first, but every new action will lead to new situational possibilities, and the introduction of someone who wasn't around at first will be one such action. I will not be focusing on Harry's romance life, although that will be mentioned, and I will be trying to go through all his years at Hogwarts until the point where Voldemort is dead. Speaking of Voldemort, I will be trying to make him intelligent, not just crazy. He was winning a guerrilla war against a superior force while being the most intimidating and powerful Dark Lord in a long time. That takes brains, cunning, and a lot of strategic thinking. Every time he was faced, right up until the end, he seemed overly arrogant - although he was probably rightfully so, but someone like him would still have some sort of contingencies, or even contingencies on contingencies. I will try and update at least once a month, hopefully twice, but may update more often should I have a large streak of inspiration that has me writing chapters a lot, which is liable to happen.**

 **The Harry Potter series is the intellectual property of J.K. Rowling. I do not own anything aside from Original Characters introduced.**

* * *

Harry looked at the corpse of Voldemort as it fell backwards, the Elder Wand and Draco's hawthorn wand in his hands. The battle had fallen silent before the final duel, and it was silent still. Nobody on either side appeared to move. It then was suddenly alive with both the cheering of the students and DA and the cries of angered defeat of the Death Eaters. It was because of this raucous celebration that Harry never heard the spells launched by the Death Eaters. He only saw Hermione and Ron look at him, their eyes wide in fear, and the ensuing fiery explosion between his two friends. He felt shrapnel from the blast tear into him, his body spinning to the side, and then a sharp cutting pain from the side of his neck. A blurry haze fell over his eyes, and the sound of terrified yells from the explosion faded out. Harry could still barely make out the colors of spells firing between the students and Death Eaters, as the battle raged again, despite the death of Voldemort. As he felt his eyelids slowly begin to close, and his vision blur into darkness, a single thought went through his head. 'I guess this just couldn't be avoided.'

* * *

Light. Harry could see the telltale pink on the inside of his eyelids as light poured against them, yet he couldn't feel anything. Not the hardness of a stone floor, or the softness that one would expect of a bed. He did not even feel any clothing of any form against him. Puzzled at this, he opened his eyes and saw… nothing. Not in the sense of an empty field, or unending darkness. He saw an endless white of nothingness. He felt no gravity, but he didn't feel as if he was floating. As he moved to feel his face, he noticed that they were clean, as if he had been scrubbed of the dirt of his final fight with Voldemort. When he touched his face, he felt no warmth from his skin, and yet it was not cold. It was merely there, like touching a pad of some sort. It did not feel like it was alive. He tried to turn to get a better look at the nothingness, to perhaps see if he was back in Limbo once more and find Dumbledore waiting to take him to the afterlife. Instead, he saw more nothing.

Was this what the afterlife was then? Was he just to float in this empty whiteness for all eternity? "Harry Potter." An ethereal, echoing voice called out to him. It was soft at first, and it seemed to come from everywhere. He spun around once more, feeling the ground beneath his apparently bare feet. "Harry Potter." It called out for him again, this time, coming from above him. He looked up, but saw nothing. Yet it called again, louder this time, and from behind. "Harry Potter." He turned one more time, and still saw nothing but the same overwhelming white light that pervaded every corner of this strange existence. He tried to call out to the voice, his voice trembling and somewhat raspy, as if he had not spoken for years. "H-Hello?"

The voice called out to him, this time sounding as if it were right next to him. "Harry Potter." He turned and was gazing into two olive green eyes, a strange ring of gold around the pupils. The owner of the eyes had their face practically right up against him, and Harry stumbled backwards in surprise, falling onto his back. Harry looked up and saw a tall, young man who seemed to be in his twenties wearing a tailored Muggle business suit. The suit jacket and pants were a solid black, and his shoes were brightly shining in the white space. The man had straight, short, black hair that was swept to the side. A well-trimmed, reddish-brown beard and mustache that connected was on the man. He was leaned forward slightly, hands clasped low behind his back. His eyes looked down at Harry, his lips pressed together as if contemplating something, most likely the Boy-Who-Lived sprawled before him.

Harry took in a breath to speak, but was stopped by the man before him. "Are you going to get up off the floor any time soon, Mr. Potter?" His voice still echoed throughout the area, but now it had less of an ethereal effect to it. It only sounded as if he were somehow speaking in rounds. Harry quickly scrambled to his feet, stuttering out a quick apology, only for the man to raise his hand to silence him. "There is no need for apologies, Mr. Potter. I did surprise you. It is I who should apologize to you. Now then, please sit. We have much to discuss." He motioned behind Harry, who looked and saw a simple looking chair that one would expect in a Muggle office building for meetings. As he looked back at the man before him, he saw him proceeding to sit down as a highly ornate throne rose out of the ground, covered in turning gears, clock faces, hour glasses, sun dials, and other assorted time pieces. A similarly ornate desk slowly followed in front of the man, made of a very dark wood, with hour glasses carved to act as the legs, and the top surface carved to be the face of an old Grandfather Clock.

"I guess you really like clocks, sir," Harry joked, attempting to still his growing nerves in this strange meeting, his voice strangely having that echoing effect the other man's did.

The man's lips turned into a smirk, not quite like Malfoy's trademark ones, but close enough that it left Harry somewhat unsettled. "I guess you could say that. Time is typically on my side." His voice was level as he spoke. The two seemed to stare at each other a long silence reigning supreme, with the mysterious man leaning forward and placing his hands in front of his mouth in a sort of bridge, his olive-green eyes boring into Harry's bright green ones. Harry shifted uncomfortably under the man's scrutiny before the uncomfortable silence was broken by the man once more. "We have business to discuss, and you have questions to ask. Ask them, and I will answer you."

Harry's back straightened slightly before he spoke starting with what he felt was the most pressing of questions, "Where am I, sir?" The man leaned back in his chair, drawing his hands over his stomach as he continued to scrutinize Harry, somewhat reminding him of a bored predator watching uninteresting prey.

"You are where you are." The man was apparently not going to be helpful.

Harry tried again, trying to keep the mild irritation out of his voice. "But where is that sir?"

The man quirked an eyebrow up at that. His voice betrayed nothing of what the man may've been thinking regarding his scrutiny of Harry. "For lack of a better term, Harry Potter, you are in the Void, where all the Masters go should they be unable to pass on." The man was still as he spoke, almost like a statue.

Curiosity prickled at the back of Harry's mind, and he asked the obvious continuing question. "Pass on, sir?"

"To the afterlife, Harry." He blinked at that. So he was dead, or somewhere in between again.

"But what about Limbo?" The man chuckled at that, his lips curling into a faint smile.

"Limbo is not a place for the Masters. A Master is either dead or alive. There is not allowed to be an in-between."

There he was about the Masters again. What did that have to do with him right now? Was he talking about the Deathly Hallows? What would they have to do with anything? "A Master, sir?" The man simply looked at Harry, as if he had grown a second head, causing him to shift uncomfortably in his seat once again.

"It just occurred to me that I have not properly introduced myself. You may call me Bishop. I am the Master of Time, a member of the Masters, and the one assigned to... introduce you to a few things." He paused, letting what he said sink in before continuing. "The Masters are individuals or small groups of individuals who have somehow obtained complete power over an aspect of Magic or existence by fulfilling certain pre-requisites, effectively controlling that aspect like one controls a car."

Harry looked at Mr. Bishop, the gears in his head churning to process the information before he spoke up, somewhat confused. "But Mr. Bishop, I thought the title Master of Death was a myth." Bishop chuckled, whether at his confusion or how quickly he appeared to understand it, Harry had no idea.

"It both is, and it is not, and please call me Bishop. We are of equal rank. You are the Master of Death, and I am the Master of Time. To answer your unspoken question, Mr. Potter, my planned explanation will address the veracity of the legend pertaining to the Peverell brothers." The man brought up his right hand, and flicked his wrist slightly, a glass of water appearing in front of the both of them followed by a bowl of crisps that slid towards Harry on its own. "Before I begin to explain, do you have any questions? I will not tolerate interruptions if you forgot to ask anything." Bishop leaned forward, once more bridging his hands in front of his mouth, his glass of water between his elbows.

Harry leaned back into his chair, and thought for a few moments. What did he have questions about that he wanted answers to right now? He was obviously dead, or somewhere between life and death, but what about his friends? Who killed him in the end? Those might not come up in the explanation, it was probably best to ask them right away. Harry opened his mouth to speak, "What abo- "and was promptly cut off by Bishop raising a finger out of his hand bridge.

"Your friends are dead, Harry. Ronald Weasley and Hermione Granger were killed by a Blasting Curse fired by Travers. Ronald died quickly to it, having taken a large amount of shrapnel from the blast, while Hermione died from blood loss and complications of heavy burns during the ensuing fight between the remaining Death Eaters and the Hogwarts students. You yourself were killed by Walden Macnair using _Sectumsempera_. In the end, the Death Eaters still died, but the casualties were greater than they should have been…" Bishop seemed to trail off in thought, his eyes going off to the side, before snapping back to look at Harry. "Do you have any further questions?" Harry shook his head, and Bishop nodded. "Good, then get comfortable." They both leaned back in their chairs.

"Now, to explain the title Master of Death, you must know of the power behind Magic itself. Magic has never truly been tame, as it seems to be. It usually flows like a raging river, but the Masters guide it and control it. We are that which guides the flow and have the greatest control of our areas. That said, we do not have Masters over elements, and we have overlap between our areas of influence." His eyes fell on Harry's, and they seemed to brim with life and amusement, a Dumbledore-like twinkle appearing in them. "Our areas are two such overlaps. Death, Time, and Life all have overlap. While your domain deals with passing, and you can take that which lives, so too can Life bring the dead back like you can… but neither of you can do so without my assistance and approval. I, on the other hand, must receive your approval to reverse time should it bring the dead back to life, and the permission of Life should it cause the lives of some to be undone. We do not approve of each individual death to occur, but we have some say in if people die or the like. We are essentially watchers of existence as it passes, mortal men and women ascended beyond it all and watching as things pass. There is no good and evil among us, and there is no plan among us. Morality has little effect or implication to us, as we stand outside of it." Harry's eyes widened minutely at hearing this. They essentially had power over Life and Death, and they did nothing. People died and suffered because they did nothing. They simply stood by. Bishop continued.

"That said, that does not mean we do not take special interest in some events that afflict humanity. Our apathy stems from us having become eternal, and we only pass on should certain conditions be met: The first condition is that someone new takes the helm of our position, and the second possible condition is that mortals remove us without a replacement. From time to time, this happens by accident. An unknown consequence to rituals that Wizards use." Bishop paused to take a breath, and Harry raised his hand, as if he were in class. Bishop sighed, "I thought I told you I would not answer any questions until the end."

"Sorry sir, it's a question because of your explanation." Bishop looked at Harry, mild confusion appearing on his visage, and he nodded, prompting Harry to continue. "You're the Master of Time, right?" Harry asked.

"Yes… I am the Master of Time, with all that titles brings," Bishop answered, mild confusion leaking into his voice.

"Are the Masters like nobility of some kind?"

"I-I guess you can say that?" More confusion leaked into his voice.

"And there have been many in the position of Master of Time?"

"Yes." A simple, firm answer.

"Why not just call yourself a Time Lord then?" Bishop seemed to slacken in his chair, his muscles releasing, and his eyes were looking at Harry, an expression that easily translated into 'Are you serious?'

After a long, drawn out silence, Bishop spoke again, schooling his features into a straight face before they dropped into a scowl to rival Snape. "Because I'm not some juvenile gallivanting around time and space in a Police Box. I am the Master of Time." Bishop paused for a moment before asking, "Now, do you have any other questions or may I continue? There is an offer I may make at the end, but if you irritate me further, I will not give it." Harry nodded slowly, surprised at the anger over a simple alternate title. Bishop cleared his throat and continued again. "As I was saying… From time to time, a position becomes empty. Your position, as well as several of the positions of my colleagues, has been empty for the last thirty years relative to me. I say relative to me because I am a Master of Time. I know who my successors are, and have spoken to each of my predecessors. We always are, just as we always are not, because of the nature of Time. You, on the other hand, are the Master of Death. Your title places you as the Reaper's manager. You may use him as a weapon against your enemies, or you would be able to if you were alive." Bishop paused again, letting his words sink into Harry's mind. He, Harry Potter, had the essence of Death itself at his command during the final battle. He could decide who lived and who died, and yet he failed even in that. He couldn't keep his friends alive, or even himself. He was broken out of his somber thoughts by Bishop's voice again. "That said, there is a third condition. The passing of the position to another Master until such a time as a new, proper holder comes along, should certain complications occur. Typically, a Master lives a certain period after achieving their position before being made aware of the job waiting for them at their end. You, however, were killed during what could be called a formation period. While your very soul was being prepared to control the Reaper, you were killed. These are complications that open the third option to you. You may pass your title of Master of Death to another Master, though you run the risk of being destroyed in doing so, or you may have me attempt to correct the problem. The correction of the problem would take what feels like no time for a Master, but could be decades in the life of a mortal."

What was Bishop suggesting? He was giving Harry a chance to pass on and be with his friends and family. It wasn't a certainty that it would work, but would it really matter one way or the other? "What would I have to do if I wanted to pass the title to you or another Master?" Harry looked down at the top of Bishop's desk. He didn't want to look at the man's eyes and see that twinkling that reminded him of Dumbledore.

Unbeknownst to Harry, the man's lips were twisted into a disturbing smile. "The same thing I would be asking for as payment for the offer I will make you." Harry looked up at the man again, Bishop's smile having changed, looking to Harry like a grinning cat who just found a pinned rat for himself. "My offer is this, Harry. I am the Master of Time, he who controls its flow. Just as I can speed it up and pause it, I can rewind it. The Master of Life has already allowed me to give you this offer, and I am sure you will not refuse. I will rewind time for you. I will bring you back to just before your introduction to the Wizarding World, no earlier and no later. In return, you will make sure that the Master of Time who has control during your time period becomes the Master of Death. He will know what to do when the time comes, and he will assist you." Bishop let out a deep sigh, his eyes closed. "If you choose this option, I apologize well in advance for his behavior." His eyes snapped back open, glaring at Harry with a strange intensity, the twinkle gone. "That said, if you chose to simply give up the title, you would be sent back to moments before your death instead, only to die again, this time for good. The result would either destroy you, or send you to the afterlife, to your," Bishop looked as if he were going to be sick as he spoke, "next great adventure." Bishop visibly shuddered, as if the phrase itself were a nasty curse or hex. "Now, the choice is yours. Call for me when your decision is made." Bishop stood, his desk and chair fading from existence, leaving the glasses of water and bowl of crisps floating in front of Harry, as if the desk was still there, and he left, leaving Harry alone in the empty white space.

* * *

Harry sat in the chair, staring at his clenched hands as he thought over his decision. He could continue as the Master of Death, living an apathetic existence with no real fulfillment that separates him from his friends and family for eternity. He could also take the gamble of giving the title up in what seemed like the standard process for the Masters... or he could take the offer and go further back in time. He would have to endure the harsh treatment of the Dursley's again, but he would have a chance to keep his friends alive this time around. His thoughts traveled to everyone he lost thus far: He thought of Cedric, killed when Voldemort first returned; To Sirius, killed by Bellatrix in the battle at the Ministry; to Remus, killed by Antonin Dolohov; of Dumbledore and his guiding hand in Harry's life, despite how manipulative he may've been; of Fred Weasley and the Weasley family in general, who he considered his own family; and of Hermione, who stood by him throughout everything even when everyone else turned against him; and even of Snape, who gave his life to protect Malfoy and himself. What would they say he should do? To Sirius and the Weasley twins, they'd probably tell him to go for the long run and pull one over on Voldemort, Sirius saying he should have had a long life. Remus and Hermione would probably try and weigh all the pros and cons of each option, with Hermione wishing she could possibly research anything about the Masters. Ron and Ginny and the rest of the Weasley's would probably tell him to take the long option, saying they'd still be there right with him again and again. He thoughts moved to Ginny, his last thoughts before he thought he'd die by Voldemort's hand. Those thoughts alone might've normally motivated him, but if he did go back in time to try and fix things, he would have to deal with her shy fan girl stage, something he would not look forward to, should he make that decision.

After a long time deliberating, Harry finally sighed, really only coming up with one real option. He may not like the Dursleys, but he could save the most people by going that route. He would save Cedric, he would save Sirius and Remus, Fred Weasley wouldn't die, and neither would Ron or Hermione. He was determined to keep as many of them alive as he could. Standing, Harry called out for Bishop, who stepped out of the bright white light ahead of him like a phantom. "You have come to a decision." It wasn't a question. Bishop was smirking, reminding Harry too much of Malfoy. He nodded, not needing to say anything more. Bishop knew what he gave him, seemed to know about his 'saving people thing' as Hermione called it. Bishop straightened up, his arms seeming to tense behind his back as he stood tall, towering over Harry, noticeably taller than Ron. Emerald green met Olive green, and Bishop nodded once. "You will be meeting with the Master of Time relative to your own time shortly after you arrive. As I stated before, I am sorry about how they will act. While I am centuries old, they have only experienced decades. Follow their instructions, and you should be fine." He held out a hand for Harry, the ethereal echo gone. "Good bye, and good luck, Mr. Potter." Harry firmly grasped the man's hand and shook it, before Bishop stepped back and Harry was surrounded by swirling sands and ticking clocks. The sand flowed upwards, while the hands of the clocks moved backwards, each tick echoing through his head continually, the sand burying him until all he saw was darkness.


	2. The Bishops

**Harry Potter is the property of J.K. Rowling. If I owned it, I wouldn't be here... Maybe. Probably.**

For Harry, it could have all been a dream. Hogwarts, the Weasleys, Hermoine, Dumbledore. All of it could've just been a dream last night. Yet, he knew it wasn't, could feel that it wasn't. Harry had awoken to darkness, yes, but it was a familiar darkness. It was the old cupboard that had been his bedroom before his Hogwarts letter arrived and he was moved into Dudley's second bedroom. How long had the Master of Time said he'd send him? Wasn't it supposed to be just before his introduction to the Wizarding World? Wouldn't that have been when Hagrid came to get him, or did he mean the day his letter arrived? Since he was in the cupboard, it must've been around that time, it just wasn't likely to be anytime else.

He rose out of the cot and tried the cupboard latch, finding it unlocked, and stumbled out, the light of the hallway beyond blinding him for a few seconds, blurred shapes all around him. He felt it strange, for a moment, before he remembered he hadn't put his glasses on, and reached towards the small shelf they were on for them. In that moment, two things happened. First, he fell forward, being unused to his smaller body and underestimating both his arm's length, and his general reach, and landed back in his bed, his head hitting the wall of the cupboard. Second, a knock was heard at the door, something that hadn't happened last time around.

Rubbing the spot where his head hit the wall, he heard the door to his room slam shut as either Aunt Petunia or Uncle Vernon went to answer the front door, likely an attempt to hide him away from the visitor. He could hear muffled speaking, but couldn't make out much. Risking a potential punishment, which he deemed acceptable consequences to find out what this seemingly minor change was, Harry got up from the ground, put his glasses on, and cracked the cupboard door open slightly, seeing a tall man with similar features to Bishop at the door, speaking to Uncle Vernon. The man was shorter than Bishop, but likely not by much, standing around the same height as his uncle. He looked like the Master of Time from afar, probably around the same physical age, with his black, straight hair, and his reddish-brown beard, but that seemed to be where the similarities ended. This man's posture was more relaxed, a slight forward curve to his upper body, prominently in his shoulders, and his weight seemed to be on his right foot, which he kept directly underneath him, his left foot somewhat forward. He wore a black polo shirt, and deep blue jeans with a black belt. His hair seemed to have a natural curve to it to his right, and a mild smirk that you would typically have to be looking for on his face as he spoke. He exuded a mild arrogance from him, a confidence that screamed how sure of himself he was. For some reason, Harry was again reminded of Malfoy.

This man seemed to notice Harry, because his eyes seemed to twitch towards him before looking back at Vernon. "It seems we have an eavesdropper, Mr. Doobley." His voice was smooth and his accent wasn't from Britain. It sounded like he was from someplace in the States or maybe Canada.

Uncle Vernon turned, missing the small crack of the cupboard door, muttering that his name was Dursley, not Durdley somewhat irritably. In that instance, Harry saw the strange man nod at him and wink with his left eye. Vernon, finally noticing the crack, slowly turned red. "Boy!" Vernon's voice wasn't as loud as it could've been, but the irritation and anger was very much evident. "Get out here this instant!" Not wanting to risk his uncle's wrath while he was eleven again, he slowly opened the door and stepped out of it, expecting his uncle to continue. Instead, however, it was the stranger who spoke up.

"It's good to see you, Mr. Potter. My name is Sean Bishop, but you can call me Sean or Bishop. You met my grandfather recently, and said he'd send you something when he got back home." The man, Sean Bishop, reached into his pocket and pulled out a thick, heavy envelope that had been folded over. He held it between his fingers, holding it out to Harry, waiting for him to come forward. Vernon saw the letter and tried to snatch it out of his hand, but Mr. Bishop was faster, leveling a glare at Uncle Vernon. "You know, Mr. Derpy, back in the States it's illegal to steal someone else's mail. I'd expect the same applies here in Britain." Mr. Bishop seemed to smile as Uncle Vernon's face went from red to a light purple color – whether it was because he was unable to snatch the letter or Bishop deliberately messing up his name Harry could not tell. Bishop walked forward, clutching the letter tighter than before, and bent down at the knees and hips slightly as he offered the envelope, now unfolded showing the wax Hogwarts seal, to Harry.

Harry gingerly took the envelope, wondering how he intercepted it. Post Owls didn't give letters to anyone but their recipient or a delivery point for them, which was the letter slot on the front door for Number Four. Maybe he used magic to keep the letter from fully slipping in? But then, where was the rest of the post? He was pulled out of his questions by Sean standing back up to his full height and walking towards the door, calling behind him, "I would also like to invite Mr. Potter to dinner at my house with myself and my little brother on Monday the 30th. I'll return at four o'clock that evening to pick him up." He didn't even break stride as he went, until he reached the door, and looked directly into Uncle Vernon's eyes, a scowl that would've been the envy of Snape across his features. "I would recommend moving Mr. Potter to a room more suitable for living than a storage closet." The scowl gave way to a smirk. "If the wrong people saw such living conditions, well, I wouldn't want to be you." With a light chuckle, he stepped through the threshold of the front door, down the path off the property, and down the curb into the distance.

Thinking quickly, Harry ducked into his cupboard, while his uncle was still staring at the leaving figure of Sean, and opened his Hogwarts letter, looking at McGonagall's familiar script scrawled across the parchment in emerald ink. He'd read it once before when Hagrid had handed it to him, but this was the first letter. The one he should've been able to receive the first time around, the one that Uncle Vernon burned. Here it was, in his hands. For some reason, this was more sentimental than he would've thought. It wasn't given to him by a friend of his parents like Hagrid was, but it was still hand delivered him in a way that he could read it before his uncle would try and take it, like he did when the letter first arrived. A smile crept onto Harry's face. This time really would be different.

* * *

On July 30th, Harry was woken up by his uncle pounding on the door to his room, the same room he was moved to after Hogwarts first tried sending him his acceptance letter. That was before, though. Now he had it because his uncle realized the not so veiled threat behind what Sean had said. If Harry Potter continued to sleep in a cupboard, or anything unfit for human habitation, the law would get involved, and Mr. Dursley just couldn't have that. It would ruin the life he tried so hard to keep normal. It would be a travesty for him. Still, that did not mean that Harry didn't cook for his family, or clean for them. His treatment was only changed so much, and the punishment of being locked away changed to being in a larger room instead of a cramped closet. Albeit, it was the smallest bedroom in the house, but it was still larger than the cupboard.

And so it was that Harry went through what he remembered to be his daily routine from every summer between years at Hogwarts. He was once again doing chores around the house, making breakfast, lunch, and dinner, and cleaning the house. The difference between then and now, though, was that Harry failed to burn himself when cooking, his reflexes as a Seeker and additional years of experience cooking food and brewing potions helping him. That didn't help much with cleaning, and he would typically go to bed very tired. Today, though, at around three o'clock, Aunt Petunia had him stop his chores and took over for him, saying he was doing a particularly horrible job at it. It was unusual to him, but he guessed it had to do with Mr. Bishop's pending arrival. Taking the opportunity, he went to have a quick shower and get dressed as best he could.

At exactly four o'clock, there was a knock at the door. His uncle called for him to answer it, and he saw Sean Bishop standing there, in the same clothes he wore the last time he came around. Sean just nodded to Harry and looked past the time traveler, towards the approaching Vernon Dursley. "Hello again, Mr. Doorsby." He cracked a small grin as he spoke, his posture sinking back again as he relaxed. "Here to pick up Harry as I said I would."

Vernon simply nodded, his chins, for he had many due to his fat, jiggling slightly as he did so. His eyes turned towards Harry. "Don't embarrass us, Boy." Harry blinked. While he was used to his uncle calling him boy, Vernon's tone was calmer than any other time he said it. His face seemed less purple than it usually did as well, and his eyes seemed somewhat less, well, mean. It was like Vernon's wrath was being tempered more than usual, but Harry knew this to be near impossible. He was a very short-tempered man. Harry was pulled from his musings by a hand on his shoulder, belonging to Sean Bishop.

"Well, Harry. Let's get a move on. Can't keep my brother waiting." His lips formed a small smirk. "Time waits for no man, after all." As he lead Harry out of Number Four, he saw a single red car out front. It didn't look out of place to Harry, but something about it felt off. It was a Mercedes 380SL with its top down. It was a nice-looking car to be sure, and would possibly catch the eye of Muggles, but it would also catch the eye of any Wizard and likely not in an appreciative way. There was a slight shimmer over it that shouldn't be there for any ordinary Muggle car. It was strange. "Like what you see, Harry?" Harry looked at Sean, eyes wide. He didn't entirely realize he'd be staring at it so heavily. Sean smiled. "It's enchanted pretty heavily. Not surprised you'd notice. I'll explain more when we won't likely have eavesdroppers." He opened the passenger seat and motioned for Harry to get in, before sliding across the hood of the car and getting in the driver's seat. From there, they were off to where ever the Bishops were living.

The trip itself seemed to have them driving into London, along a very complex way that eventually had them within a few short blocks of the Leaky Cauldron. The car pulled into a nearby alleyway, where the duo got out. Sean turned to the car, tapping his index finger three times along the door handle. Harry watched as it shrank down into a small seven-centimeter model of what they had just been in. As they walked the short distance to the Leaky Cauldron, Harry spoke up. "Why are we going to the Cauldron? I thought we were going to your home?" Sean simply looked at Harry and smiled, saying nothing as they stepped inside.

The Leaky Cauldron wasn't empty by any means, and Sean stayed in front of Harry, keeping in front of his right half, hiding his scar from view with his body as they made their way to the small courtyard out back of the pub, unnoticed save for a couple curious glances that only saw their backs. Sean walked up to the door that hid Diagon Alley from view and produced a wand. Rather than tap it, he spun the wand in his hand, turned to Harry, and tapped him on the chest, leaving his wand point there. Harry didn't have enough time to question it as he saw the walls around him start sliding upwards, as if he were shrinking, but his body didn't seem to be contracting like he was. Slowly, he heard it, the sound of pouring sand... coming from below him. He looked down and saw his body, from the feet up, turning to sand and draining into the ground. He looked to Sean surprise in his eyes, and only saw the same smirk he seemed to have glued to his face. It was then that he noticed that he too was turning to sand with him. As the sound drew closer to his ears, he found he couldn't move anymore. He couldn't look down, or even speak, and then the sound stopped, but he saw flecks of sand bouncing slowly into his vision until that was all he saw.

* * *

Within the Headmaster's office at Hogwarts, several instruments used to measure the security and power of wards around a certain house in Little Whinging began to spin faster or produce more smoke before they finally shattered. These instruments were not found until a few hours later when Albus Dumbledore returned from a meeting with the Minister of Magic.

* * *

As the sand cleared from his vision, Harry heard it again, the sound growing fainter, and he saw a lightly curved ceiling. It wasn't too high up, and was a cream color, and looked somewhat smooth, with small cracks in the paint closer to the center. As the sound of sand dissipated, he felt a hard-wooden floor pressed to his back, and the sudden sound of metal hitting floor somewhere nearby. Sitting up, he tried to get a bearing on his surrounding, but was met by the slit green eyes and reddish furry face of a cat of some kind. Its body was very long, and had a short tail. Its eyes flicked over Harry before it turned and hopped onto of a La-Z-Boy chair, curling into a ball, but its eyes staying on him.

Looking around, Harry saw the rest of the room - what he believed to be the drawing room - was mostly decorated around the walls, with a fireplace made of a black stone nearby, a vine pattern on one side. There was a large cabinet with a glass front that seemed to hold a music player and a collection of CD's flanked by two waist high speakers. Wall mounted, adjustable lights sat on the wall above them, and an upright piano sat in the far corner, to the right of a large doorway - sans door, with a guitar lazily leaned against the wall next to the piano. More chairs like the La-Z-Boy sat in a circle around the fire place.

Turning his gaze back to the doorway, Harry saw a set of eyes and black hair peering at him from around the wall. Upon being noticed, the eyes practically leaped around the corner, and he could hear retreating footsteps and hushed whispers, followed by heavier footsteps. Sean Bishop came into view of the doorway, carrying a small boy under his arm like a sack of flour, an irritated twitch to his left eye. Harry could see what looked like melted cheese hanging off the child's next and bits of carrot and tomato in his hair, while a few noodles of spaghetti were slowly sliding out of Sean's hair, who unceremoniously dropped his brother onto the ground with a soft thud. "So, dinner is going to take longer than I thought. Seems you already met Specter. Annoying Lynx is Lance's pet." Sean gave a heavy sigh and left the two alone, his footsteps echoing through the hallway. When the echoing of Sean's footsteps stopped, Harry could see the hallway shifting between varying designs, as if it just couldn't make up its mind. It changed from a plain, wide hall one might find in a regular home, to a large room with a vaulted ceiling like that of a manor. Each room faded into the next, rather than morphing. He was mesmerized by this strange sequence of transitions, only pulled back into the room he was currently in when he tripped over something, a squealed grunt coming from by his feet.

"Hey! Watch you're going!" Harry looked down and could see Lance Bishop still on the floor, looking at him with a goofy grin on his face. "But it's alright. Bit of my fault, honestly." Lance pushed Harry's legs off his back and they both got up. "You like music?" Harry opened his mouth to speak, but Lance had already moved across the room where the music system was set up and began flipping through tons of songs, still speaking. "We've got music from all ages here. Original recordings of Beethoven; bone flutes from the stone ages, though really the quality is really bad... We've got the Beatles, Mötley Crüe, Scorpions..." Harry just watched and listened Lance for a few moments before tuning him out. He just kept babbling on about different musical groups, most of whom Harry hadn't ever heard of. Instead, he sat on one of the chairs and really began to think on his situation.

He was back in time, with a babbling child and his pompous older brother, both of whom controlled the flow of time. He knew he _should_ trust them, but his past interactions with fairly powerful magical beings had been Dumbledore's manipulations to keep him in the dark and Voldemort trying to kill him several times throughout his time in the Wizarding World. He wasn't exactly inclined to just trust them flat out. Then again, they were giving him a chance to save everyone. They only asked for a title he felt was meaningless in the grand scheme of his existence in return, and they were giving him help. The question was, how long would they be giving it, and would they be forcing him to act according to how they want, or would he be free to operate as he saw fit? These were things he needed to know. Harry was so deep in thought, he didn't hear Lance calling for him, or even notice as he waved in front of his face.

What Harry saw in front of him was somewhat unexpected, to say the least. Lance was upside down, holding onto a rope like one might think a monkey would do with a vine. Emerald met olive for a second before a snapping sound could be heard from above as the rope gave out at that moment, dropping Lance into a heap on the ground. Harry looked at Lance, his face a cross between bewilderment at Lance having been hanging from the ceiling and amused laughter at what just happened to him. It was so random, so strange, and so out of place, yet so non-threatening compared to what Harry had been experiencing since his original introduction to his life as a wizard. It was almost absurd how he had gone through years of a new villainous character appearing in his life, culminating in what was happening to him now. The contrast between the existence he lived before and what he may now experience had just hit him. It wasn't just a second chance at keeping his friends alive, it was a second chance at his childhood and life as a whole. He already had a general idea of what lay ahead of him, from first year all the way to his sixth year, and what should have been his seventh year if it hadn't been for Voldemort. "Harry?" He was broken out of his new thoughts by Lance calling his name and shaking him by the shoulder. "You spaced out again, Harry."

Mentally shaking his head clear of his previous thoughts, he looked at Lance again. "Yeah, I'm fine. Just... everything's just starting to hit me. A new chance at it all, you know?"

Lance smiled and shrugged. "Never really been in your position myself. My brother and I are Masters of Time. We can go and do things like this any time, so long as it doesn't stop us from ever gaining our position. We can't relive our lives." His smile seemed to flicker for a second before returning.

It was in that moment that Sean returned, declaring dinner was ready and Lance bolted from the room in excitement, hunger, or both, into a hallway that would've looked proper in a mansion or manor, his shoes clicking across the floor as he ran. Both Harry and Sean stood there for a moment, however, their eyes locked. Sean was the one to break the eye contact, inclining his head in a nod. "You coming, Harry? Not much of a dinner without food." Sean gave a soft smile. "You've got probably got some more questions by now, I've got possible answers, and beyond that we have much to talk about." He turned on his heels, the click of his shoes against the flooring echoing, with Harry following soon after.

The inside of the dining room was cozy, rather than the grand thing that Harry was half expecting. The room had three doors, one that seemed to swing and three windows, one of which had an intricate stained glass depiction of an hour glass with a dining table in the center and three decorative tables around the edges. The table could fit a total of eight, with three on each side and one at each head, draped with a grey, silk table cloth. The table was completely set for eight, and Harry looked at both Sean and Lance, who stood to one side of the table. "Are more people coming, Mr. Bishop?" At Harry's question, the brothers looked at each other before looking back at Harry.

"No, just that we're used to setting the whole table." Sean's face fell slightly and Harry could feel the temperature in the room drop slightly. "There used to be more of us, kinda like the the Weasley family... Not pleasant memories anymore for us..." Sean's face set into a blank mask. "It's not something we'll be talking about either. Now, hurry up, choose a seat while I bring the food in." Harry nodded slowly as Sean stepped out of the room through the swinging door.

Harry looked back to the table and chose a side seat near the stained glass window, the table head to the right. Lance sat down directly across from. When Sean returned with covered trays resting on floating clouds of sand, he sat down at the head seat between Harry and Lance as the sand clouds deposited the trays onto conjured stands for them. With a flick of his wrist, a jug of water appeared and the covers for the trays disappeared, showing a large bowl of some sort of salad, a large brisket, beef pasties, a shepherd's pie, and a bowl of mashed potatoes. Lance seemed to quickly attack the food, reminding Harry disturbingly of Ron as he gathered generous helpings of everything onto his plate. Sean gathered smaller portions, but not by much, but that didn't seem to actually put a dent in what was on the serving dishes as they seemed to slowly regain what was lost somehow. Curious, Harry stared at it, wondering if a house-elf was doing it until he noticed several grains of sand rolling around the trays on the tablecloth.

Seeing where Harry was looking, Sean smiled and spoke. "The sands are a medium for our manipulations of time when we're around mortal beings." He raised a hand and curled it into a loose fist. The sands rose from around the trays and swirled in the air above the food, not a single grain falling out of place. Sean waved his other hand, and a plate on the other side of the table cracked into several pieces. "So long as we can access our sands, we can undo our mistakes, within reason and with permission from the appropriate Masters it may affect." The sands swirled around the broken plate before dispersing, leaving behind an unmarred plate. "That said, we can't return an individual to life, should they die." Sean leaned back in his chair, and looked at the ceiling as he continued to speak, forming a steeple with his fingers. "Objects aren't a problem for us. They have no life to return to them, so we aren't overstepping any boundaries with those." Sean fell silent for a moment, before turning his attention to his food. "Well, dig in. We can discuss more of this after we eat and retire to the living room."

* * *

It wasn't much later that Harry found himself in the living room with the Bishop brothers, a roaring fire in front of them, in fairly comfortable chairs, and a cup of tea in front of him. Now was when he would finally get his new questions answered, questions that actually pertained to his situation. He looked over the brothers, expecting them to say something before he began, and was only given a nod telling him he could start.

* * *

Dumbledore stared at the broken instruments, a grave look on his face. They were once used to keep track of one Harry Potter, The-Boy-Who-Lived, and the one who was to defeat Voldemort if Dumbledore's suspicions were correct. That some of these instruments broke, especially this set, was indicative of grave happenings to the young Potter. The magic tied to the wards around Mr. Potter were overpowered to an extreme degree. His safety was likely compromised. Sending Hagrid to retrieve the boy would no longer be a good idea. He had to go and protect Harry himself. Calling Severus and Minerva to his side, they apparated to Little Whinging. All Albus could hope was that he was not too late.

 **AN: Sorry if it seems fairly slow here... and lacking in the humor department. I swear, this will live up to the humor aspect, or Harry will die trying! What, expected me to die trying? Hell no, I like life, and he can at least come back from death. Anyway, reviews are always appreciated and all that, even if they're negative. Just don't flame and all that.**


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